No more swimming
in your money vault, Scrooge,
the well has dried.
Banks failing and
people panicing,
the grand fall of a giant.
Recovery might not
be in the cards this time,
the dirge has begun.
Break out the suits
of deepest mourning,
because morning might not come.
Numbers become meaningless
and fear rules the streets,
the gloating is heard from overseas.
The giant lays dying and
heaving his final breathes,
mourn fast for time is running out.
The giant may live or die
and we will need to go on,
but the real question is, will we?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
man that was real good. A great interpretation of what were in right now. Good job